


Sleepless Nights

by RiddlerChic



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcohol Poisoning, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sleep Deprivation, Tony Stark Has Nightmares, Tony Stark Needs Sleep, Tony-centric
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 10:37:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16016159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiddlerChic/pseuds/RiddlerChic
Summary: He can’t be alone; he can’t bear the thought of being alone. It makes him break down, his anxiety piling up, and up, and up, and up.Yet, he’s alone right now, and the only thing he’s doing is drinking away his anxiety.





	Sleepless Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Big shout out to my friend Michael for being my beta. I wouldn't have ever posted this without your help.

_Bodies. That’s all he can see. The bodies of his teammates, humans, aliens. There’s bodies all around him; overlapping, in piles, in pieces. It was messy, he remembers. Blood, tears, vomit. They were scared and he couldn’t do anything to help._

_His suit is destroyed. It’s damaged and he can’t fix it, not here. He’s useless without it. He can’t do anything. He’s trying, but he can’t move. He’s paralyzed with fear. Fear that no one’s left. He wants to check, to feel a pulse, but he can’t move._

_“Tony!” He hears; a familiar voice. It’s far away, faint, but he hears it and looks for the source. He can’t see anything, not at first. Then it’s there; the flash of red, white, and blue. It’s coming towards him._

_“Steve-?” He manages, a croak of the man’s name. He still can’t move; his legs won’t work. They aren’t listening to his brain. His body is stiff. He sees Steve’s face._

_Blood. Steve is bleeding. There’s a gash on his forehead, but he still manages to get to Tony._

_“Tony, we need to go. Can you move? How are you still standing? I saw you get knocked out of the sky-”_

_Tony can’t answer. He’s staring at Steve, terrified. What is happening? Who knocked Tony out of the sky? Why is his suit destroyed?_

_“Tony-”_

_He’s not listening anymore. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t hear. He’s frozen and he can’t move. He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Steve is shouting his name, trying to get his attention._

_“S-Steve?” He murmurs, eyes glistening with tears. He’s so scared, so vulnerable. Why him? Why isn’t he dead like the rest? He should be dead, not them._

_“Tony, hey listen to me.”_

_Steve’s voice is a dull hum. Tony can’t understand a word._

_“Steve..” He murmurs again. He’s finally able to move his body, and he steps out of what’s left of his suit, falling into Steve. Steve catches him, holds him, picks him up and carries him away from his suit. His suit. Without his suit…_

_“Need it... fix it.” He mumbles, half-heartedly reaching towards his damaged suit. “Nothing without it... I need it, Steve…”_

_“Tony, you don’t need it, alright? Now I need you to stop- umph-!” Steve groans, his step faltering. Tony furrows his eyebrows, going slack in Steve’s arms. Steve seems hurt. Tony looks down. There’s a bullet wound in Steve’s side. Tony looks up, eyes wide. There’s a figure five hundred yards away, standing on a pile of bodies. Tony sees the gun._

_“Steve-!” He shouts, but too late. He hears the gasp of pain from Steve, the man stumbling forward and falling. Tony’s about to dart out of his arms, but Steve tightens his grip. He uses himself as a shield to protect Tony._

_Wait, why?_

_Tony whines and tries to move out from beneath Steve, but the bigger man looks down at him with a pleading gaze. Tony goes still and looks up into that blue gaze. There’s hurt, sadness, anger. And… Tony doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something else there._

_“Steve?” He whispers in a frightened, child-like voice. The man above him is starting to go slack, the weight pressing down on him. But Steve is still looking at him. “Steve… don’t go… please… I-I can’t… can’t do this a-alone-” Tony’s trembling, gasping, crying. The weight of the situation is crushing him. He’s going to lose Steve. Steve’s dying, and he can’t save him._

_“Shh… it’ll be okay. You’re strong, Tony. You think you need the suit but you don’t. You’ve proven that so many times.” Steve’s voice is strained. He’s losing breath, losing blood. Tony’s sobbing now, shaking his head at Steve. He’s nothing without the suit. He’s nothing without the suit. Nothing without the suit... Nothing..._

He wakes up sobbing, dried tears and fresh ones covering his cheeks and drenching his pillow. His sheets are at the foot of the bed, crumpled as if he’d kicked them off while he slept. He’s drenched in a cold sweat, forehead glistening in the soft light of his room as he sits up. Breathing heavily, chest heaving, he lowers his legs over the side of the bed, feet barely touching the floor.

“Jarvis?” He whispers, voice meek and hoarse. Why he’s so quiet, he doesn’t know. The walls are soundproof.

“Yes, sir?” The A.I. asks, voice full of concern. How can an artificial intelligence be concerned? He just is.

“Is anyone else awake?” When he stands, he realizes he’s shaking. His fingers, calloused from his years in his garage, are trembling at his sides. It takes a moment for him to even move, too afraid he’ll step on a dismembered arm or leg. But he does, eventually, take a step, and then another, towards his closet.

“No, sir. Everyone in the tower seems to be fast asleep.” Jarvis replies, and Tony nods. He opens his closet, fumbling as he flips through his shirts. He pulls out a rather large Captain America shirt, one he hasn’t worn in a few years, but knows it’s still two sizes too big for him. He bought it that way purposely; perhaps it was his childhood crush on Steve Rogers influencing him.

Tugging off his sweat-soaked pajama shirt and tossing it into the laundry hamper, Tony takes a minute, just standing there, the arc reactor glowing faintly. He’s gripping the Captain America shirt tightly in his fists, staring down at the star in the center. He thinks back to when his dad told him stories, when the only things Howard would talk to his son about were the designs for Steve’s suit, or the shield that he had been working on for him. His thoughts began to turn bitter as he begins to think about how the only times Howard would ever converse with his son was when the topic of Steve Rogers was brought up.

“Sir, are you alright?” Jarvis questions, and Tony laughs ruefully, shaking his head. “Sir?”

“No, Jarvis. I’m not alright. Not in the slightest bit.” Tony eventually replies, slipping into the Captain America shirt, which hangs down to his knees. “Haven’t been alright since the Chitauri attack. Since Loki and Than-” He stops himself and shakes his head. “You know what, J? Why’re you asking?”

“Well, sir, you were crying out for Captain Rogers while you slept.” The A.I. replies now more monotone than before. “Another nightmare, I presume?”

Tony scoffs, “What makes you say that? Maybe I was having a wet dream.” He’s walking back over to his bed, getting ready to strip the sheets.

“It did not seem like you were being pleasured, sir. You seemed distressed. You were also crying, which only proceeds to support my assumption.” Tony sighs at the A.I.’s reasoning, crumpling up the sheets into a ball and setting them on the floor. He hopes that changing his sheets will help ease his mind off of his nightmare, but Jarvis keeps pushing. “Would you like me to contact Captain Rogers? I’m sure he would not mind-”

“No!” Tony snaps then seems to shrink in place. “I-I mean... No, no thanks, J. I’m fine, really. Just a little shaken up, is all.” He turns his focus back to his mattress, realizing he needs clean sheets. Gathering up the dirty sheets in his arms, he makes his way towards his closet once more, setting the sheets down next to the laundry hamper. After wiping his hands off on his shirt - the sheets are _completely_ soaked with his sweat - he opens his closet again, pulling a stool out from behind his clothes. Using the stool, he reaches up onto the top shelf of his closet and pulls down a set of blue sheets, accidentally catching his foot on the way down, falling off the stool and onto his back. “Fuck-” He grumbles, his foot stinging a bit from where it had caught on the stool, and his back aching from how he landed.

“Are you alright, sir?” Jarvis asks, _again_. Tony hums in affirmation, slowly sitting up with the sheets piled in his lap. He looks down at them with a huff; blue. Of course, they have to be blue.

“Hey, J? We got any drinks in the bar? Or...” He trails off for a second before continuing, “In the kitchen? Or down in the lab?” He asks, not because he plans to go get a drink, but because he’s curious.

“Sir, might I suggest you refrain from drinking anything alcoholic tonight? You _have_ had issues in the past with your nightmares, as I recall.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Tony states, getting to his feet with the sheets tightly pressed against his chest in a ball. He slowly, and cautiously, makes his way back over to his bed, setting the sheets down on the mattress.

Jarvis sighs, “Yes, sir. There are drinks in the bar, kitchen, and lab, as well as the mini-refrigerators you had placed in each bedroom. Currently, there are three bottles of Corona beer and one bottle of Smirnoff vodka in yours.” A small noise escapes Tony as he starts to put the clean sheets on his bed, starting with the top right corner of the mattress and working his way around until each corner is tucked between the mattress and the box spring. “I don’t suppose you’ll be going back to sleep anytime soon, sir?”

“Nope. Wouldn’t be able to even if I tried.” Tony replies, a little breathless from putting the bottom sheet on the bed. After placing the top sheet on the mattress, Tony relaxes on the edge of his bed and lets out a deep sigh. “You can, J. Go ahead and recharge the systems, k?”

“Are you sure, Sir? I know you don’t like to be alone when-”

“Seriously, J. I’m fine.” Tony laughs a little breathlessly and falls back onto his mattress, stretching his arms out over the sheets. “I’m not gonna do anything stupid, I promise.” Looking up at the ceiling, Tony furrows his eyebrows slightly. “Well… er, J, what would you consider stupid?” There’s a slight pause. It feels like hours before Jarvis says anything, though, in reality, it’s only a few minutes.

“Anything that causes you harm, sir.” Is his reply, and then, “A system reboot will take five hours. Do you think you will be alright while the systems are down, sir? Once I begin, there will be no communications, nor electrical power, until the system turns back on.”

“I’m familiar with the system reboot, J. And yes, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Besides, Steve usually gets up around six and it’s, what, two in the morning right now? Steve will be awake before the reboot is over. Everything will be fine, J.” Tangling his fingers in the sheets, Tony tries to keep the shaking at a minimum, though he knows he can’t truly control it.

The A.I. finally caves and says goodnight to Tony, and the genius has to resist the urge to correct him and say ‘It’s morning, doofus.’ After Jarvis goes into reboot mode, Tony lets out a shaky breath and continues to stare up at the ceiling, replaying his dream over and over. He still thinks it’s true, that he’s nothing without his suit. He believes that without the suit, there’s nothing for him anymore. Everyone knows that Tony Stark, billionaire playboy, is Iron Man, so there’s no going back. Without his suit, there’s nothing left. And he knows they try to hide it, but the team is very much aware of how vulnerable Tony is without his suit. Unlike them, he’s had no training in the martial arts, no serum injected into his body. He doesn’t know how to defend himself, except for a few punches that he learned from Natasha, and how to shoot a gun. Other than that, however, he’s defenseless without his suits.

Sighing softly, Tony sits up on his bed once more. With the tower in system reboot and that means the elevators won’t work until a little after seven when Jarvis comes back online. Which means that if Tony wants to go down to the lab, he’ll have to take the stairs. And he does not want to climb down eleven flights of stairs, so he settles for the idea of heading to the bar to get a couple drinks.

Slipping into some fuzzy blue - seriously, what is with him and the color blue? - Socks, Tony makes his way to the bedroom door and slips out into the hall, his shirt long enough to cover his boxers and most of his thighs.

Padding down the hallway, Tony crosses his arms over his chest, looking down at his feet and the floor. His legs are hairy, yes, but not as hairy as some men. He does keep them shaved, not too keen on having hair anywhere other than his head.

The bar room has always been his favorite place in the tower, not because of the alcohol but because of the floor to ceiling windows that looked out at the city. Currently, though, he’s not in the mood to check out the view. He makes his way over to the bar, going behind to look at his options. Eventually, he decides on the bottle of Scotch whiskey, going for a glass at first and then deciding to just drink from the bottle. He moves out from behind the counter, heading towards the couch in the center of the room.

The sky is still dark outside, light rain falling on the city of Manhattan. The drops pitter-patter lightly against the large windows, creating a very soothing, calming scene for Tony. He’s sitting on the couch, now, Scotch in hand as he watches the rainfall. As the time passes, and he drinks more of his whiskey, the rain falls harder, seeming to match Tony’s mood.

He sits there for an hour, slowly drinking the bottle of whiskey, before he decides to head down to the lab. Gathering up a few more bottles of alcohol in his arms, he starts to head towards the stairwell when a flash of lightning lights up the entire room, startling Tony enough that he drops one of the bottles, letting it crash to the ground, glass breaking and alcohol spilling out onto the tiled floor.

Looking down the hall to make sure no one is awake, Tony slowly kneels down, setting the other full bottles of alcohol on the floor before he starts to pick up the broken pieces of glass. He’s careful at first, but when he hears the slightest noise, Tony rushes to get it all picked up, accidentally cutting himself on a piece of glass. It stings, the alcohol managing to get into the cut before he can realize it, and he hisses at the burn on his palm. The cut isn’t too deep, only two or three centimeters, but it burns enough for tears to prick at Tony’s eyes.

“Dammit...” He mutters, watching a few beads of blood rise up from the cut. He ignores it, then, picking up the rest of the glass and walking back to the bar counter to throw them away. Once his cut is clean, or as clean as he can get it right now, Tony presses a folded paper towel to his palm to keep it from bleeding too much. The sting isn’t going away, but he continues to ignore it as best he can, taking a wad of paper towels over to the alcohol spill and soaking up the cursed liquid. He wants to talk to Jarvis, ask him if he woke any of the others, but he’s alone, right now.

With the mess cleaned up now, Tony takes the bottles that he’d set on the floor and continues to make his way down the hall, towards the staircase. The only other Avenger on this floor is Clint, and Tony knows the archer won’t get up unless it’s on his terms, or it’s for an important reason. Still, even knowing this, Tony walks quietly, holding the bottles tight so they won’t clink together while he walks. His internal clock is off, so he has no idea what time it is, but he assumes it’s close to three in the morning, maybe three-thirty.

At the top of the staircase, he stops, knowing it’s a long way down to the lab. He’s on the eleventh floor; the lab is down in the basement, which means he has twelve flights of stairs to climb down.

“God, why did I have you reboot the system, J..” He mumbles to himself, beginning to climb down the first flight of stairs. He takes shaky, slow steps, not worried about falling, but worried about what lies in the darkness. He knows there’s things out there, things that could kill him with a snap of their wrist. That thought sends a shiver down his spine and he stops, leaning against the wall for support. His head is swimming, and he’s only had one bottle.

Deciding to push through, he continues down, taking careful steps so he doesn’t trip and fall. His heart is beating rapidly, anxiety pooling low in his stomach. He thinks back to his dream, his _nightmare_ , and has to, once again, take a moment and stop, a quiet whimper escaping his lips. He’s never really had to climb down these stairs, so that in of itself happens to be nerve-wracking. But the darkness that seems to be pushing in on him, attempting to suffocate him, _that_ is making it worse.

He’s only three-fourths of the way down the first flight of stairs, and he knows that if he keeps stopping like this it’ll take him all morning to get down to the lab. So he decides to tighten his grip on the bottles in his arms, continuing to make his way down the steps as quickly, but as carefully, as he can. It takes him all of twenty minutes to get down the first flight of stairs, and that’s including the times he spent stopping. Now, determined to get down to the lab, he pushes aside his anxiety and continues down the next flight of stairs, and then the next, and the next, continuing down into the dark and only stopping once at Steve’s floor, the fourth floor, to make sure the man’s still sleeping.

Tony knows, probably better than any of the other Avengers, that Steve has nightmares just as bad as Tony, with one major difference. Steve’s nightmares are his memories, his past, and Tony’s are completely drawn up from his own mind. Steve has nightmares about Bucky Barnes, about the Tesseract, Red Skull, the plane crash. Tony knows this because he knows Steve, even if Steve doesn’t really know Tony.

He spends a moment to just stand in the hallway, near Steve’s bedroom door, and listen. No sounds can be heard, and Tony lets out a slightly disappointed sigh. A small part of him wants Steve to be awake, but maybe it’s for the better that Tony is alone right now. He doesn’t want to break down in front of any of the Avengers, _especially_ not Steve.

Tony, quickly recovering from his disappointment, heads back towards the staircase, unaware of the shuffling behind the closed door to Steve’s room. Tony continues down the last five flights of stairs, bottles still wrapped tightly in his arms, and pushes open the door to his lab, flicking the light switch and grumbling to himself when the light doesn’t turn on. The system reboot, as Jarvis said, shuts down all electrical power, meaning no lights, no electric-powered tools, and no Iron Man suit for the next three or four hours.

Closing the lab door behind him, Tony sets the bottles of alcohol down on one of the tables, counting them with a grim smile. It’s been months since he’s gone down this path, since alcohol has called his name. He knows that if Jarvis were online, the A.I. would convince him to put the alcohol away. He knows if the Avengers were awake, they’d find him and remove the bottles from his grasp. He knows he shouldn’t touch them, shouldn’t open them, and shouldn’t drink them. But he does it anyway.

He starts with the bottle of bourbon, opening that as he sits down on a stool, leaning heavily against the lab table. Lifting the opening of the bottle to his lips, the rim resting lightly against his lower lip, Tony tips the bottle upwards, letting the liquid coat his tongue and slide down his throat, a low hum traveling up his spine and through his jaw.

He sits there for a moment, letting the bottle weigh heavy in his hand. Glancing around the lab, he notes how the shadows seem much darker in some places, and he wonders if that’s because of the design of the building, or if it’s some unnatural phenomenon. He snorts at that thought, shaking his head and lifting the bottle to his lips once again, taking a much longer drink this time.

“Unnatural phenomenon. As if.” He mumbles against the rim of the bottle, shifting his weight on the stool and losing his balance, grabbing the edge of the lab table with his free hand to keep from falling over. Chuckling at himself, Tony readjusts his position on the stool, wrapping his foot around the chair leg. Bringing the bottle back up to his lips, again, he takes another long drink, sighing afterward and setting the bottle down on the lab table.  
He goes back and forth between drinking and staring at the wall, then moving to another stool only to drink some more and stare at a different wall. Another hour passes and there’s bottles scattered all over the lab table. He realizes too little too late that he hadn’t brought anything to eat down with him, and the topic of alcohol poisoning crosses his mind.  
“Shit...” He murmurs, eyebrows furrowing. He knows he’s not there yet, not even close, but the alcohol hasn’t entirely absorbed into his body yet. It’ll take another good twenty minutes, and that’s when things will go sideways. Tony knows what’ll happen- it’s happened before. He’ll become delusional, messy, and unable to form coherent sentences. And once that passes, he’ll be cold to the touch, but sweat will drip down his body. It’ll take some time, but eventually, his body will shut itself down, and he’ll end up passed out on the floor of the lab.  
He knows all this because it’s happened before. Years ago when his drinking was really an issue. It’s happened a few times, actually. A few more times than he’d like to admit. The only other person who knows this is Rhodey, the one who had been there for him during those low points in his life. Rhodey had threatened him the last time, saying how he wouldn’t help him the next time. Tony knows that Rhodey meant it, and he knows that this time he really will be alone. The thought forces a whine from his throat. He’s never liked being alone- in fact, he despises being alone. That’s why he has his Dum-E and U, Jarvis especially. Even without the other Avengers living in the tower with him, Tony wouldn’t be alone. He can’t be alone; he can’t bear the thought of being alone. It makes him break down, his anxiety piling up, and up, and up, and up.  
Yet, he’s alone right now, and the only thing he’s doing is drinking away his anxiety. Thinking about it now, maybe that’s why he’d had Jarvis reboot the system. So he gets to deal with his emotions on his own, gets to wash them away without the nagging from his A.I.  
The alcohol sets in sooner than he expected, his eyelids drooping as he looks around the room. The delusions are setting in, his vision swimming. It happens all too fast, and he can’t understand it anymore. He can’t understand what’s happening, now. Tony lifts his hand, unsure of exactly what he wants to do, and knocks over a bottle of alcohol, the liquid spilling out onto the table and dripping over the edge.  
Drip… drip… drip…  
The sound lulls Tony into a senseless state of consciousness in a matter of minutes, soft hums escaping him. He was sad, but now he’s content. The alcohol affecting his mind is almost too much, but he’s holding onto consciousness, not willing to go back to sleep anytime soon. The sounds that fill the room, the smell of his own intoxication, and the feeling of his slowing breaths keeps Tony somewhat alert, keeps him focused on what’s happening to him. He knows it’ll take more time for all the symptoms to hit him, and he knows he should move right now, get up and go find help, but he doesn’t. Instead, he sits there, watching the alcohol from the spilled bottle drip down off of the table, a puddle already forming on the floor. He watches in silence, knowing everything will come crashing down on him soon.

A small part of him doesn’t care; a small part of him is wanting this, wanting to feel that poison seep through his veins, burn his muscles, make his mind blank. He wants it, and that’s why he doesn’t move when he can.

He lets his body start to go slack, which he knows is a bad idea, but he can’t care any less. It feels nice, to let go and not have any worry. He realizes he _should_ be worried, but he isn’t. He’s relieved, relaxed. He’s content. Shivering, he leans more against the lab table, still staring at the dripping alcohol, a loopy smile gracing his lips. He doesn’t feel sick, not like his previous episodes have made him, but he’s drowsy. His eyelids feel heavy, his muscles straining when he shifts his body, but he doesn’t fight it. Instead, he welcomes it, the pull to sleep. His body starts to slump, his head drooping and his eyes slowly sliding closed.

It’s a bad idea, but he finds he doesn’t care. And when his consciousness slips away, sleep taking over, he still finds that he _doesn’t care._ It feels nice, to relax and let go, and even though there’s the warning signal flashing bright red in the back of his mind, he can’t control it anymore. He drifts off into a dreamless, empty sleep, his head hanging and his body going completely slack. The room is silent, save for the small _drip, drip, drip_ of the spilled alcohol and the sounds of Tony’s quiet breathing.

 

* * *

 

_The room is quiet, too quiet for Steve’s liking, as he pushes open the door. There’s a faint dripping sound coming from the center of the room where Tony’s workspace is, and Steve wonders if the genius had accidentally broken something whilst down there._

_Entering the lab slowly, Steve scans the room, though he can’t see much through the darkness. He can make out the shadows of lab tables and stools, some equipment still strewn over the surface of each table. The further he walks into the room, the louder the dripping sound gets, and he knows he’s getting close to the source. It’s worrisome, however, when he hears slow, shallow breathing._

_“Tony?” He whispers, his voice low and full of concern. He’s closer to the lab table in the center of the room, Tony’s usual workspace, and can feel a slight wetness on the floor beneath his bare feet. Perhaps something spilled, he thinks, but then it hits him. It washes over him like a wave, and he thinks he might gag from how strong it is._

_“Oh, Tony…” He manages to get out, eyes still adjusting to the shadows. He finally sees Tony; a figure slumped against the lab table. The smell of alcohol is radiating from the genius, and Steve’s concern grows as he places a hand on Tony’s arm. His body temperature is low, too low to be healthy, and Steve shakes his arm quite a few times to wake him. Except…_

_Tony won’t wake up._

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter to what I hope will be a very promising story. I have plans, don't worry. If any of you have suggestions for what you think should happen, don't be shy! I also love constructive criticism, okay? And kudos would be lovely but are not necessary.
> 
> And I apologize if you get impatient waiting for another chapter. I have school, as well as babysitting, and I get very busy in other aspects of my life as well. I will try to write the chapters and get them up as soon as possible, but it may take time. I apologize for this.


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